


honey and sympathy

by melonpaan



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: AU, Domestic Gongaga series, Extremely Established Relationship, F/M, No Beta, Plotless Fluff, help i'm drowning in feels, i think i need to tag for the constant implied sexy times, six seasons and a movie (this is a joke tag), slowburn plot but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27276097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpaan/pseuds/melonpaan
Summary: AU. Tifa and Zack and a (mostly) quiet life in Gongaga.
Relationships: Zack Fair/Tifa Lockhart
Comments: 52
Kudos: 65





	1. laundry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Szajnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Szajnie/gifts).



> This is 100% the fault of Szajnie’s [domestic](https://twitter.com/szajnie/status/1321645543794331648) [Gongaga](https://twitter.com/szajnie/status/1321647919037075456) [Zifa](https://twitter.com/szajnie/status/1321960340180094977?) art series pls direct all blame that way (by which I mean go RT and fav the heck of out her art so she keeps feeding us thx).

Tifa wakes to the hum of summer cicadas and a slow and familiar—if oddly misplaced—whirring. She yawns deeply, rubs the sleep from her still-closed eyes as she rolls over, fully expecting to come face-to-back with a warm, soft body. Instead she rolls all the way over and around to land on her back in the middle of a very empty bed. She frowns and pops her eyes open, squints in the morning light to survey a very empty bedroom. She wriggles upright and glances all around the room. Yup, very empty. The floor is bare of her very neat and organized piles of to-do laundry. Ah, so that explains the noise. She peers at the clock. At _nine am_? 

He really let her sleep in.

She swings her legs over the bedside and grimaces, pinches the collar of her t-shirt to peel it away from her sweaty, slick skin, fans it out for some relief. Zack warned her all those years ago— _Gongaga summers are no joke_ —but even after all this time, she’s still a mountain girl at heart. 

With another yawn she stretches her arms overhead, cracks her neck, and finally removes herself from the bed, pads downstairs toward the laundry nook, fully expecting to see Zack doing his morning squats as he waits for the laundry to finish. 

She’s not disappointed. At all. Curls up against the doorframe, content to watch the contours of his back muscles, the swing of his arms, the sweat running down the nape of his neck. He’s noticed her from the beginning—she’s never been able to sneak up on him—but he’s a ham who likes to put on a show. He finishes his set in double-time before finally glancing over his shoulder and sending her an exaggerated wink. “Like what you see?”

“Mm,” she replies appraisingly, looking him up and down for good measure. He laughs, hearty and full as he spins to face her. “You didn’t have to do laundry. I was gonna get to it.”

“That’s what you said last week when you ran out of shirts.” He does his next set with his eyes locked on hers. “And lo and behold, I check my drawer this morning and somehow I am _also_ out of shirts!”

“Shocking indeed,” Tifa murmurs, all honey and sympathy, as she fans herself with her shirt again. “Must be a thief.”

“Must be.” He finishes his last squat and moves toward her, brings his hands to rest on the small of her back. “Good morning.”

She smiles lazily up at him as she stands on her tippy toes, winds her arms around his neck and presses her chest firmly into his with a sweaty squelch and a satisfied sigh, finally feeling complete. He fits his mouth against hers, minty fresh against morning breath. “G’morning.” She snuggles her face into the crook of his neck as he hums and twists the ends of her hair around his fingers and Tifa thinks she could stay like this just shy of forever.

The machine dings.

He sighs dramatically. “Duty calls.”

“Five more minutes.” 

“You’ve already got the rest of my life here.” She pouts against his collarbone and he laughs, a comforting rumble against her heart. “Okay, fine. As long as you’re okay with wrinkles.”

She sighs dramatically. “Okay, fine. If I help, we’ll finish faster. Then more snuggling.” 

“Then more snuggling,” he agrees, though he’s yet to let go of her waist.

“It’s for the best anyway, I’m out of underwear too.”

“Still are.” He waggles his eyebrows. “ _I_ didn’t wash any of them.”

“ _Zaaack_!”

He reaches under his shirt to pinch a bare cheek. “Must have been a thief.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, Remake made it super easy to ship nearly anyone with anyone cause everyone is so damn attractive. And while I liked Zack and Tifa together aesthetically, I didn’t really think about how their relationship would actually function because of all the obvious baggage—until [this laundry pic](https://twitter.com/szajnie/status/1321960340180094977?). Because though I _love_ me some Zerith and Cloti—Aerith and Cloud are probably useless idiots in the domestic department. Like Cloud’s out here not knowing fruits from vegetables and Aerith would totally wash her jacket with her whites and end up with all pink laundry. 
> 
> So Zack (and lbr Rude) is probably one of the few people who could properly pamper Tifa to the point where she could actually _be_ lazy for once, instead of having to take care of everything and everyone else and I just??? Love that for her??? FOR THEM??? So yeah, this was the fastest thing I’ve ever written ~~and uh, there might be more to come.~~
> 
> Thanks for reading??? <3


	2. routine

Zack wakes with the sun, eyes fluttering open as light peeks in through crooked blinds he somehow always forgets to adjust. He slides his arm out from under Tifa’s head and kisses the top of her smooth, bare shoulder before tucking the covers gently back over it. She sighs and snuggles deeper into the blankets, still sound asleep, as he eases out of bed to slip on a pair of shorts and socks. His morning route takes him through the Gongaga jungle forest, down winding paths with twisted overhead vines, around the shallow spring of crystal clear waters, and all the way back, the grass well-tread beneath his feet.

He returns home after a thirty minute run, toes off his sneakers at the entrance, and wipes himself quickly down with the towel hanging by the door. When he's mostly dry, he slings the towel around his neck and proceeds to the kitchen, pours some grinds and enough water for a single cup of incredibly strong coffee, then sets the machine on with a click. The towel, shorts, and socks get tossed into the laundry bin on the way to the bathroom, where he hops quickly into the shower.

Tifa’s alarm rings at exactly 6:25 am. Her eyes blink open, followed by a giant yawn, and she stretches her arms over her head before finally shuffling out of bed and down the stairs, making a beeline for the kitchen. She grabs a clean mug from the cabinet and pours herself a full, steaming cup with just enough room for a splash of milk. She drinks with her eyes closed, savors the warmth as it trickles all the way down her throat. The caffeine kicks in after half a cup, and with one hand she sets a kettle of water to boil on the stove, grabs Zack’s favorite teacup, and fills its metal strainer with some loose leaf oolong from the tin. There’s just enough for one decently strong cup.

She drains the last of her coffee with her head tilted all the way back before placing the mug in the sink and heading to the bathroom. She’s hit with a face full of steam as she blindly reaches for her toothbrush and pops it into her mouth, glancing at today’s morning message smudged onto the fogged mirror: <i>nice butt <3</i>.

She chokes on a laugh just as the shower-head turns off and she sees the reflection of his face poking out the shower curtain, eyebrows waggling in her direction. She sends him a frothy air kiss before tossing a clean towel from the rack at his head.

She rinses her face, pats it dry, and is dabbing on a light layer of lotion and sunscreen as he steps out of the shower, toweling his hair.

“Good morning,” he says, mussing up her bangs as he steps around her to grab his toothbrush.

“Nice butt,” she replies, smacking his bare ass on the way out. She musses her bangs back into place and runs her fingers through her hair as she heads back to the kitchen, tying up the end up the elastic band around her wrist.

Zack finishes brushing his teeth before slapping on some sunscreen and taking a dime-sized amount of gel and running it quickly through his hair. He’s done in about five minutes, but spends another wiping the mirror down with his hand and thinking of something new to write.

By the time he rejoins Tifa in the kitchen, the teakettle is whistling, the radio is playing something soft and jazzy, and the smell of perfectly fried eggs fills the air. She turns the burner off as he scoots around her, palms one hand over her butt and uses the other to pour hot water into his teacup. He leaves it to steep and pops two pieces of bread into the toaster oven.

He butters and jams the toast, she slides sunny side eggs on top of each slice, and they both pop the yolk so it drizzles all over the bread and the plates before giving thanks and digging in. When they’re done, Zack clears the kitchen table as Tifa heads upstairs to get changed for the day.

She decides on a clean white blouse, a knee-length skirt, and a pair of neon green socks with little cactaur detailing Zack picked up at some flea market two summers ago. The supermarket is always, somehow, freezing cold, so she grabs one of Zack’s hoodies in addition to a fresh towel from the dresser.

He catches her at the foot of the stairs and tilts his face up just in time to meet hers perfectly as she reaches the second to last step. “See you for lunch,” she manages to say before he captures her lips with his again, and again, and again, and she giggles and has to use a bit of force to push him away lest she be late for work. Again. She hangs the clean towel on the hook by the front door as she steps into her red hightops and heads out the door.

Back in the kitchen, Zack flips through the radio stations until he finds some sugar candy pop to accompany the dishes. When everything is sparkling clean and left to dry on the rack, he ambles into his workshop in the backyard with the rest of his tea. Today he needs to finish fixing up Mrs. Cole’s watch in time for their anniversary dinner. He gets lost in work until his cup is empty, goes inside for a refill, and realizes with a frown that they’re out of oolong. He settles for some bagged green tea and heads back out. It’s a little past noon by the time he’s putting the finishing touches on a dark cherry wooden gift box. He swings round to drop the box and watch off to Mr. Cole, who smiles even brighter than the Gongangan sun at noon, before heading to the diner.

Maude's Diner is still filled to the brim even though it’s past the lunch rush, but luckily he has a standing reserved booth in the corner closest to the kitchen. He waves at Maude as he grabs a pitcher of water and two glasses for the table. Within minutes, Tifa exits the double doors of the kitchen carrying two orders of her freshly fried chicken lunch plates. She sets the trays on the table and slips into the seat opposite of him and he smiles, reaches over to wipe away a bit of stray gravy under her chin with his thumb. He makes an exaggerated show of licking his finger clean and she rolls her eyes and throws a napkin at him.

He heads home to work on his next project after lunch, and Tifa spends the rest of the day prepping for a very special dinner set menu. The diner clears out around three when Mr. and Mrs. Cole arrive, and the booth right by the windows—the one they were seated at on their very first date exactly twenty-three years ago—is ready and waiting with a vase of freshly cut marigolds. After dessert is served, Maude shoos her out of the kitchen, says she can close up alone, so Tifa wishes the happy couple all her best, and lingers in the doorway just long enough to see Mrs. Cole gasp with delight upon opening a dark cherry wooden box.

On her way home, she stops by the market and picks through some of the freshest fruit in season, and makes sure to grab two bags of loose leaf oolong as well.

“Nice hoodie,” Zack says, greeting her at the door when she gets home, and she answers his smirk with a quick kiss hello and allows him to take the bags. He heads into the kitchen to unpack the groceries as Tifa heads upstairs to change into her workout gear.

She has time for a full routine today, so she even gets out the punching back from the shed and knocks it around until she’s breathing heavy and hard and she’s soaked with sweat. Zack’s watching her by door just as she’s winding down, so she ends with an extra fancy backflip that turns into a second, third somersault until she lands gracefully on her feet right in front of him. He raises both hands—a perfect ten out of ten—and she bows with a grin before meeting his hands with hers. He curls his fingers to capture hers and brings her flush against him for a lingering hug.

“But I’m _so_ sweaty,” she laughs and he replies by swiping his tongue along her jaw.

“Delicious,” he corrects, and she swats him away with another laugh. “You’ll ruin your appetite.”

She heads into the bathroom for a quick shower as Zack finishes cooking dinner, a simple affair of steamed rice, grilled fish, and the last of their pickled vegetables from when Tifa decided to experiment with some Wutai-inspired side dishes. She tells him all about Milly’s new cat and how happy Mrs. Cole was about the watch. He tells her about his next commission from little Rowland down the street, who wants a brand new set of building blocks for his little sister’s birthday. Zack’s getting paid in candy. Tifa thinks it’s be his most lucrative project yet.

After dinner is eaten and cleaned, it’s Zack’s turn to choose a movie so of course he chooses a horror movie for the season. It’s not that bad, he promises, so they sit pressed together on the couch as the movie sets up a creeping story about a haunted manor. Tifa kneads the knots of out his neck and shoulders to distract herself as Zack massages her calves, and she does a pretty good job of not screaming bloody murder at the television until his hands trail higher and higher and, ah, well.

They’ll finish the movie next time.

They wash up for the night before heading to bed for the night. Tifa shuts off the bedside lamp and Zack’s head hits the pillow just as a sliver of moonlight catches his eye from the window. He groans and decides to fix those crooked shades, once and for all, but then there are hands sneaking around his abdomen and lips hot and insistent at the nape of his neck and he groans anew and promptly forgets all about the shades.

Ah, well, he’ll adjust them next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! The scariest thing about this is that it's nearly 2k words hahahaha help what have I done I've become a monster.


	3. scars

Tifa’s not a particularly vain person. She grew up an only child, the apple of her parents’ eyes, with almost too much love and tenderness. Every night her father enacted grand performances of heroes and princesses and princesses who would become heroes as she and her mother sat curled on her bed, her mother stroking her hair until each inevitable happily ever after. Then they kissed her cheeks until they were pink and warm, turned on her nightlight of twinkling overhead stars, and said _goodnight, sweet dreams, we love you so much._

They were so happy.

Then her mother passed away and her father tore down all the family photos off the walls and smashed his hand through a mirror when he saw her reflection in the glass, grief like an overwhelming tide, pulling him completely under. She just looked too much like her mother.

Tifa remembers her mother as the most beautiful woman in the world, even though her face has blurred and faded in her mind’s eye over time, even though every record of Ayumi Lockhart has been completely burned from existence.

So maybe it’s nice she looks too much like her mother, for whatever that’s worth. It’d been hard to bring herself to look at any surface for too long, after that.

Tifa’s not a particularly vain person, and yet—

Sometimes she can’t help but stare at her reflection in the mirror, at the point just where her breasts meet, a fist-sized lump of gnarled, purpled flesh of dead nerve endings.

The bathroom door clicks open behind her and Zack’s face swims into view over her shoulder. “You okay?” he asks softly, familiar concern etched over his features.

Yes. No. “I don’t know.”

He nods and comes to stand behind her, circles his arms around her whole body and she sighs into his embrace. “I figured, you never spend this long in the bathroom.” That wrings a choked laugh out of her and he smiles at that, presses a gentle kiss on her shoulder. “Does it still hurt?”

It used to. For a long time after. For much longer than really feasible. A phantom sharpness that would steal her breath away and hold it hostage every night until she was so sure she wouldn’t wake in the morning.

She runs hesitant fingertips over the skin and feels nothing, even as her breath stutters in her throat. Zack reaches over with one hand to open the cabinet behind the mirror and Tifa’s breathing steadies as she focuses on neatly lined shelves of cotton balls, toothpaste, and other bathroom necessities, focuses on Zack’s hand curling over a palm-sized shiny red pot tucked in the corner on the very top shelf. He offers it to her and she takes it with both hands.

“It’s one of the last things I have of your mother."

“She loved you,” Zack replies, lacing his hands loosely around her waist. “She wanted you to be happy. It’s why she left it for you.”

The very last of the healing salve Evelyn Fair had used to save her life all those years ago, when Zangan had shown up at her doorstep with a dying teenager in his arms. “What do you think?”

“ _I_ think that if it will make anything better for you, if it will help you forget, help make living even a bit more bearable—if it will make you happy, you should use it.” He hums and spins her around so that she’s facing him, still circled in his embrace, her arms pressed against his chest. “But me? There is not an inch of you I don’t love.” He lowers his head, nudges her arms up, and presses his lips softly, sweetly against her skin. And it’s just the ghost of a sensation, a soft tingling warmth.

Tifa closes her eyes and ruffles his hair with one hand as the other curls around the pot decisively. “You know, I don’t think I could be happier.”

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

The next morning, when Tifa goes to brush her teeth, something catches her attention in the mirror, written in sloppy, sloping letters through the fog: I’m happy too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad fluff is still fluff right...?
> 
> Anyway, [shoulder kisses](https://twitter.com/szajnie/status/1323095492532854786) are now officially a Zifa thing, I don't make the rules, Szajnie does. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	4. thief

“Guess what I’ve got!” Tifa sings-songs, entering the kitchen with a white crepe-paper wrapped parcel in hand.

“A winning personality? A dazzling smile? _Incredible_ abs?”

She leans against the kitchen counter and juts her bottom lip into a pout. “Are you doing the thing where I think you’re complimenting me but you’re actually complimenting yourself?”

“Noooo,” Zack replies, trapping her against the counter with his arms and nipping gently at her lip. “But thanks.”

She rolls her eyes and shimmies her hips with impatience but when he makes no move to _stop_ sucking on her bottom lip she leans her head all the way back and away with a breathless little huff. “Do you wanna see what I’ve got or not?”

“Oh, I wanna _see_ oof—” She hip checks him to finally shut his mouth as she unwraps the parcel, revealing two very shiny— “Uh, apples?”

“Not just any apples! _Banora White apples_!” She presses one into his cheek. “Look, look how beautiful.”

“That’s dumb, they’re not even white, they’re purple,” Zack grouches, taking one of the two apples in hand and inspecting it closely.

“They’re white on the inside.”

“Aren’t they all white on the inside?”

“ _Any_ way, these are considered the most delicious apples in the world. And they’re so hard to get shipped anywhere because they’re _so_ temperamentally unseasonal. But Maude has a cousin who lives in Cosmo Canyon, and he and his wife went to visit her folks in Banora, so on their way back he swung by— _don’t eat that_!!!” she shrieks, stopping Zack mid-bite. She wrangles it from his grasp and holds it protectively against her chest.

“What! I just wanted to eat the Banora White.”

“You do not simply _eat_ a Banora White,” she tuts, shaking her head sagely.

“Then what must simply be done with a Banora White?” he plays along, hands on his hips.

“Pie.”

“Ooooh.”

“Mmhm.”

*

“I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”

“And I’m telling you I didn’t do it!”

Hours later finds the house still smelling so sweetly of cinnamon buttery apple goodness. Tifa left the pie to cool on the windowsill before going to do her daily workout routine and then popping in for a quick shower. After that, she _screamed_ and Zack thundered down the stairs from the bedroom, looking for the culprit. What he didn’t expect to find was a Banora White apple pie sitting delicately on top of their kitchen table—a perfect slice cut out from it—and Tifa with the most distraught expression on her face. They’d been arguing ever since.

“I was upstairs the entire time!”

“You could have snuck it while I was in the shower.”

“And why would I do that?”

“I don’t know! Because it smelled too delicious?”

Fair point, it’s why he was hiding in their bedroom to _resist_ the temptation. He takes her face into his hands and stares seriously into her eyes, sky blue meeting deep, deep red. “Would I ever lie to you?”

She inhales once before exhaling very, very deeply. “You once told me _megon gaga_ was the traditional and most polite way of saying hello in this village.”

“Pft.” In his attempt to hold back his laughter he ends up smushing her cheeks together, smushing her mouth, eyebrows knit adorably in rage which just ends up pushing him straight over the edge into a maniacal cackle. She punches his chest and it hurts enough to make him let go, and probably enough to bruise a little, but not enough to stop laughing.

“I _knew_ it!”

“No, PFT, really, I—HAHAHA—I promise it wasn’t me!!!”

“But if it wasn’t you, who else could it have been?!” Tifa asks, hands on her hips, looking upset enough to quell his laughter.

“Pft.” Okay most of it. She glares and he shrugs. “I don’t know, it must have been a—a thief!”

“A thief,” she deadpans. “Really? We know every single villager in this town.”

“We didn’t know Maude’s cousin—he was in town!”

“Why would Maude’s cousin steal the same apples he dropped off?”

“Because one does not simply _eat_ a Banora White apple?”

“Who steals a single slice of pie?!”

She has a point. Still doesn’t mean it’s him, though. “Look, I don’t know who did it, but I would never do something to make you this unhappy—you know that, right?” He gives her his best puppy dog eyes because he truly doesn’t like seeing her like this and he’d hunt down anyone who damn well tried.

She sighs and nods, rubbing her arm sheepishly. “I know—I _know_ , stop looking at me like that it’s not fair.”

“But _I_ am.”

“Oh my god.” He waggles his eyebrows and opens his arms wide and she huffs but does, begrudgingly, walk into his embrace. “I guess we just have a single-slice-of-pie stealing thief on our hands.”

“I guess so.”

She winds her arms around his neck and stands on her tippy-toes to give him an apology kiss which he’s more than willing to oblige, especially when she pokes her tongue, soft and warm between his lips and sweeps it clean across his teeth and he’s inching his hands to grab her ass when she parts and murmurs, so softly he almost doesn’t hear, “no cinnamon.”

“What?”

“What?” She flutters her eyelashes at him, which is her very bad tell for when she’s made a mistake.

He gasps and (reluctantly) removes his hands from her ass to point an accusing finger at her. “You still thought I did it! You were just seducing me to see if I tasted like pie!”

“Well, duh! What kind of weirdo steals a single slice of pie?!”

“Not _this_ weirdo!”

“Well, okay! I was wrong, I admit it. I’m sorry.” She looks up at him with the sweetest doe eyes. “You’re right, you’d never do anything to hurt me like this.”

“You really think I’m gonna let you off that easy?” he deadpans and she juts out her bottom lip in a pout.

“I was gonna _tr_ —eep!” she squeaks as he hoists her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. “What are you—mmfmm!”

“Just desserts,” he pants, finally, separating their mouths just long enough to toss her onto the couch, before kneeling in front of her. “It’s way past dinner time.”

“Pffft.”

*

*

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*

*

*

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*

*

*

They don’t notice the entire pie is missing until the next morning, after there’s a knock at the door and a disheveled Tifa wrapped in just the couch throw glances through the peephole to discover a small bundle on the doorstep. When she takes it into the house and unwraps it, she’s amazed to find a whole dozen Banora White apples inside.

Now, every so often there’ll be a knock on the door and a sudden parcel of the ripest Banora White apples delivered straight to their doorstep. Tifa doesn’t question it, but she does always bake an extra pie to leave cooling on the windowsill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else needs a post-election pick-me-up? Hope everyone is hanging in there as we all collectively refresh those election maps. <3


	5. placemat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This quickie brought to you by me finally reading Szajnie's EPIC [Splintered Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10589625/chapters/23407521), which I believe is The Official Zifa Anthem for the ship and if you're here now you've probably already read it (and are desperately waiting for more *eyes emoji*), but if you haven't sajkdlaj what are you waiting for go read it now and thank me later.

“Tifa, you here?” Zack calls out, noting the unlit first floor of their house as he toes off his boots in the foyer and places them neatly against a pair of red high-tops. 

“Upstairs!” 

Weird. She’s usually already prepping dinner by now. He quickly jogs upstairs to their bedroom, opens the door, and the blood promptly drains from his face.

“Everything okay?” Tifa asks, sweeping tousled damp hair behind her ear, eyes a bright and smoldering wine red, with a smile painted to match. She’s wearing a sleeveless white cotton croptop with an absolutely dripping neckline. Over her shoulders and laying flush against curves is a pair of suspenders extending down past cotton and a set of incredible abs to clip onto the waist of a skintight, black leather miniskirt that leaves very little to the imagination. It is also the size of a goddamn placemat. 

“What are you—” How can his mouth be simultaneously bone dry and intensely salivating at the same time? 

“Oh this?” She asks, hands gesturing down the length of her outfit as she cocks her hip, making for an incredibly delightful bounce. “Maya said she was sick of seeing me wearing your clothes all over town, so she gave me some of her hand-me-downs from her ‘glory days’ or something silly like that.” 

Zack doesn’t think he could ever get sick of seeing her in his clothes, to be quite honest. And while he also thinks she would still look like an absolute bombshell in a potato sack, this outfit is—something else entirely. And then she raises her arms languorously above her head before bringing them down and behind her back, lacing her fingers together and stretching her _whole body_ up and all the blood that drained from his face finally reaches its destination with a cheerful sproing.

“—go out to dinner tonight.”

Oh, shit, was she saying something?

Her lips quirk dangerously plump. “Were you listening?” 

“Um.”

She steps closer, closer, closer until she’s just in front of him and he can smell the herbally sweet scent of her shampoo and the natural fragrance of her skin. “You wouldn’t happen to be distracted or something, would you?” She glances up at him through a fan of dark eyelashes that absolutely draws his attention right down the line of her cleavage. 

She’s an absolute devil, but so is he, so he runs the pads of his fingers along the underside of her suspenders, flush against cotton, down and over and her breath hitches in her throat as he rests them gently over the curve of her breasts. He pulls his fingers forward until he feels the elastic taught and tense, before releasing them so that the suspenders snap against her shirt and her nipples pebble under the fabric. He sweeps his thumbs against them slowly, reverently, and she sighs and leans into his touch. 

“So you’re telling me,” he murmurs, lowering his mouth into the shell of her ear, letting his trail away, down and around her back, lower still to toy with the hem of that goddamn teeny tiny placemat skirt, “you want to go out to dinner.” 

“Mmh- _hmm_.”

“Sitting among all of our friends. Wearing—this. And not that.” His hands snake under the skirt to feel the bare skin of her ass. “Or _that_.” He squeezes and she lets out a breathy little moan that shoots deep into his core. “And you expect me to sit across from you for over two hours _in agony_ waiting as you take forever to chew your damn food?”

“It’s not my fault you inhale your food.” She folds her arms around his neck and presses her body neatly, finally, against his with a throaty chuckle. “But yes, that’s what I expect.” 

It sounds appealing, sure, and damn sexy, true, but he’s never really been the patient, slow-burn type. “Counterplan.” He lifts her up and her legs instinctively wind around his waist.

“Yes?” 

“We eat in and I take my goddamn time.”

“Mmm _mmm_!” He presses her into him when she pretends to think too long about it and her head bucks against his shoulder, breath warm and sticky sweet on his neck. “Come and get it.” 

He tosses her onto the bed, rolls up his placemat, and gives thanks.


	6. home

“Zack?” 

Zack parts his mouth to answer but doesn’t quite manage it. She let him be for the better part of the day, packing up the entire rest of the house all on her own, with the kind of efficiency possessed only by Tifa Lockhart. But there’s a clear thrum of worry in her voice now, and Zack knows he should answer. So he clears his throat and tries again, manages a hoarse but audible “In here.” 

The door creaks open and shut, but he doesn’t glance over, keeps his eyes trained on the faded glow-in-the-dark stickers arranged in constellations on the ceiling. He feels the bed dip under her weight, and the scent of herbally sweet shampoo tickles his nose as her hair flutters against his shoulder, as her whole body aligns neatly against his. 

“The movers said they’re gonna be a little late.”

“Kay.”

“Apparently a fire hydrant burst on Main Street, so they had to take a detour.” 

“Kay.”

She shifts next to him, brings her shoulders up to her ears, the way she always does when she’s feeling particularly helpless, tension so taut in her neck that she’ll knotted up for days. And he hates that he’s the reason for it—never wants to be the reason for it—but he’s just too spent.

Tifa takes a deep breath and shimmies her shoulders loose. “I can’t believe the stickers are still hanging on!” He blinks, taken aback by the suddenness of her words. “I still remember crying when your dad gave them to me for my sixteenth birthday.” 

That tugs the corners of his lips upward as his heart warms at the memory. “He saw you staring at them through the window display, said he’d never seen you actually want for anything except just then, so he knew he had to get them for you. Bought out the whole store’s worth.” 

“They reminded me of the ones I had in my old room back in—” she cuts herself off, finding his hand and running the pad of her thumb over his wrist. “I think I cried all over the cake your mom made when I saw them.”

“Oh, you definitely did. There was some snot, too.”

“There was not!” She swats at him and he smiles and captures her hand in his, holds it against his chest. 

“And then, instead of sticking them in your room, the next day you marched over and demanded I help you stick them onto _my_ ceiling.” 

“I remember asking very politely if I could,” Tifa corrects with a smothered giggle. “By then Zangan had already left and I was spending most of my time at your house, anyway. Felt like they would be wasted at my room at the inn.” 

“Ah, yes. That was a hard summer for me.” 

“What? Why?” 

“Because you were coming over _every_ day.”

“I’m sorry, was I annoying you?” 

“No! Well, maybe.” She gasps and tries to wriggle her hand free, but all it does is make him laugh and hold her tighter. “Look, that was the summer you suddenly decided to wear these teeny, tiny crop tops. And that day you made me _lift you up_ to stick these onto my ceiling while _wearing_ said teeny, tiny crop top.” 

“Ah.” Her cheeks dimple, all faux hurt replaced completely with something suspiciously akin to pride. “So when you say _hard_ summer.”

He groans dramatically. “So. Painfully. Hard.” 

Tifa lets out a hearty laugh at that. “And all this time I thought you just didn’t notice.” 

“Didn’t notice?” He tugs on their laced hands to roll her over and onto him completely, so that her face is directly above his to get the full brunt of his narrowed stare. “Tifa Lockhart, are you telling me you were _trying_ to get noticed all those years ago?” 

“Well, Maya lent them to me—said it would be a good way to get a particularly _stupid _boy to pay attention.” She brings her free hand up to smooth the bangs away from his forehead. “If I had known it was working, I would have kept wearing them.”__

__“If I had known you were working _me_ , I would have made my move sooner.” _ _

__“Hmm, pretty sure _I_ made the first move.” _ _

__“That’s only because Mom very seriously took me aside one day and warned me to think long and hard about what you meant to me. You were already like a daughter to her, and she would not tolerate anyone messing around with you—even, or _especially_ , her own son.” He smiles wistfully and taps his nose against hers. “I think she knew I liked you before I did.” _ _

__She grins teasingly. “But you didn’t think too long about it, did you?”_ _

__“Well, when you asked for a kiss for your seventeenth birthday what was I supposed to do? _Not_ kiss you?” He swallows her grin with his lips. “I never thought you’d be so bold.”_ _

__“Well,” she hums, skimming her teeth over a plump bottom lip. “I decided that I was old enough to finally go after what I wanted, even if I might get hurt in the end. It was better than wallowing in my own inaction and endless what ifs.”_ _

__“And to think, my real present to you that year was going to be a hair tie.”_ _

__She puckers her mouth thoughtfully. “Oh, was that an option? I take it all back.”_ _

__“Nope.” He swoops up to capture her lips again. “No take backs.”_ _

__“Mmkay, no take backs,” Tifa agrees between further kisses as his free hand slides down the length of her back._ _

__“How late did you say the movers would be?”_ _

__“Not _that_ late.” _ _

__He groans and she laughs and presses one last featherlight kiss against his jaw before rolling off of his body and into a sitting position on the bed._ _

__Zack sighs. “I’m gonna miss this house.”_ _

__“Me too.”_ _

__“I miss _them_.” _ _

__“Me too,” she repeats softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “But—I still see them every day.”_ _

__“Hm?”_ _

__“In _you_. You have so much of your father’s thoughtfulness, your mother’s kindness—you’re the living legacy of two of the best people I ever knew.”_ _

__He thought he was through with crying today, but somehow his eyes are watering right back up again. “Thank you.” He squeezes her hand back before finally letting go and turning his face, wipes at his eyes while she averts her gaze._ _

__There’s a light vibration, the snap of a phone, and then Tifa’s regretful, “Ah, they’re here. Do you want a few more minutes?”_ _

__“No,” Zack says, shaking his head. He swings his legs up and then back down, using the force of the momentum to land cleanly upright on the floor._ _

__Tifa slips off the bed to join him, cranes her neck to glance up at the ceiling. “Should we take them with us?”_ _

__Zack considers, stares at the stars and then at Tifa in turn before making a decision, takes her by the waist and lifts her up so she can reach the ceiling. When she manages to pluck off a single sticker, he lowers her gently back to the ground and something drops from the pocket of her shorts. He reaches for it before she can; a gossamer sachet of black silk filled with what looks like tiny, bright red rubies. His heart constricts._ _

__“Phoenix flower seeds,” Tifa confirms as Zack gently pries the bag open and breathes in. His nose and lungs are instantly filled with a warmth that just faintly burns._ _

__“I found it tucked in your mother’s bedside table. I know they haven’t been able to grow since the explosion—but she tried every year. I thought that maybe we could try. For her.”_ _

__“Yeah,” he says, taking the sticker from her hands and pressing it gently onto the top of the sachet, cradling it in his hands. “That sounds nice.”_ _

__“What about the rest of the stickers?”_ _

__“Leave ’em. Maybe—maybe the next owners of this place will have a kid who’ll like ’em.”_ _

__“Yeah, that sounds nice.” She smiles softly as she places her hands over his. “Let’s go home, Zack.”_ _

__“Yeah, let’s go home.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viva la Zifa buffet! (But rly we are looking for cooks pls we are so hungry.)


	7. snooze

“Beep beep beep.”

Tifa furrows her eyebrows as the beeping rises slowly in pitch, curls her fingers around the edges of the covers and holds it over her face. It gets tugged off instantly as the beeping grows ever louder.

“Beep beep beep.” 

She groans and blearily opens her eyes to the sight of cheerful, twinkling, and far too wide-awake sky blue. Zack’s entire frame hovers over her, arms bracketed around her shoulders, knee nestled between her thighs. When she smacks her lips in sleepy protest, his cheeks dimple into an impossibly bright smile. “Beep beep beep.”

She lifts her face and boops his nose with hers. “Snooze.”

His eyes close and his weight drops like a comforting warmth over her body. His face somehow lands cheek against chest, and his faux-but-soon-to-be-real snores lightly rumble against her heart. She cards one hand through his hair and closes her eyes with satisfaction as his breathing slows, steady and even, and they both fall back asleep.


	8. hero

After dinner, Tifa finds herself lying flat on her back at the foot of Zack’s bed, hands twined over her stomach, staring up at barely glowing constellations on his ceiling. Which is a pretty common occurrence, all things considered. What _is_ rather new is Zack’s silence. Out of the corner of her eye she spies him hunched against his headboard, arms propped up on top of his knees as he reads with his face way too close to his book of choice. It’s a series of fantastical fantasy novels about magic and crystals and chosen heroes and whatnot. Tifa stopped paying attention when he was describing the sixth one—arguably the best one according to Zack—because she’s still stuck on why the author would name it “Final” _anything_ when there are already over ten novels in the set. 

She’s also, okay, maybe a bit miffed that he’s been ignoring her in favor of said books for the better part of a week. Tifa feels something has changed, an almost imperceptible shift in his demeanor, but she can’t quite put her finger on _what_ , wracks her brains for anything she might have done that she should apologize for, then rolls her eyes at herself because how self-centered can she be? They’re probably just really good books. She might even give them a read. Later. When she’s not feeling so miffed. When she’s not trying to tamp down the fear that Zack somehow _knows_ she’s been harboring a silly crush on him for far too long for someone she considers a _friend_ —for someone who _is_ her friend—and that his silence is the answer to this particular conundrum she’s been wrestling with. 

No, there’s no way he knows. She wills it so, steels her resolve to snap out of it and decides that today she’ll give into a little pettiness and ignore him twice as hard. She alights from his bed and stretches her arms behind her back, wanders over to the other side of his room to poke and peruse around his belongings. Lifts one of the silver balls on the pendulum sitting at the corner of his desk and releases, watches as it clinks loudly, endlessly, against four other silver balls, smiles in satisfaction as she feels his eyes briefly on her back. She lets the pendulum go on swinging, clicking and clacking, as she moves on to his overflowing bookshelf. 

The entire fantasy novel set gets prime real estate on the top shelf, which is eye level for Zack but a bit out of reach for Tifa. Otherwise he has an assortment of comics, some science fiction, a surprising amount of textbooks on architecture and engineering, and even something that looks suspiciously like a smutty romance novel. She considers teasing him about it, but then she catches sight of something small and shiny on the very bottom shelf. She bends down to free it, and a thin, well-worn paperback follows. It’s a copy of the _Loveless_ screenplay—and the shiny thing affixed to the corner of the book is a metal pin bearing the infamous Shinra logo. Engraved underneath is _SOLDIER SECOND CLASS_. 

She blinks, unpins it from the paperback and holds it out with her thumb and forefinger into the light to see if she’s misread. She hasn’t. “What is this?” 

Zack glances over and blanches like he’s seen a ghost and the look is so— _unfamiliar_ on his face. He tosses the novel aside and strides up to her in just a few steps, takes the pin carefully from her hands without so much as grazing her skin, forces an uneasy smile onto his lips. “Would you believe me if I said it was nothing?”

Tifa crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head, because this is the first real conversation he’s started with her so of course she’s going to take advantage of it. He sighs and trudges back to his bed, seats himself on the edge and pats the space next to him. She takes it, and when Zack’s expression doesn’t change from looking so absolutely stricken, her pettiness unfurls and her eyebrows knit together in concern. “Zack, what is it?” 

“It’s just—not something I’m proud of.” He lays the pin palm up between them. “When I was thirteen, I packed my bags and hitched a ride to Midgar with dreams of becoming a hero—a _Soldier_.”

“Ah.” Tifa nods slowly, understandingly. Of course. “To be like the great General Sephiroth, just like all the other boys.” 

He smiles painfully at that. “I never really meant to hide it, but you can imagine why I never wanted to bring it up to you.”

She gets it, really does, but can’t suppress the shudder than runs down her spine, the phantom sharpness that flickers just under her chest. She exhales shakily and tries to keep her tone light. “So? What happened? The Zack Fair I know would never stop until he achieved his dream.”

“Well, three grueling years later, I made Second Class—was told it was the fastest anyone had ranked up in SOLDIER, actually. Hence the pin.” He chuckles wryly, sadly, and curls his hands into a fist over it. “And then, that same year, the Gongaga reactor blew up.” 

“Zack…”

His breathing hardens and his fist shakes, and it takes Tifa gently pressing his hand down into his lap with her own to finally steady it. She doesn’t move away from him and he doesn’t ask her to. “I wouldn’t have even known about it if my friend hadn’t pulled me aside one day, concerned, because he remembered that this was my hometown.”

“You mean—”

“ _Luckily_ it happened in the middle of the night and there were no casualties. The reactor was becoming obsolete, anyway, and Gongaga was behind on their taxes. Shinra would take care of it, of course, but later, when they were able to get the proper parts available, as if the reactor was more important than the people living here.” She can hear the disdain dripping off of every word. “That’s what they told me when I asked around. Always an answer and excuse but nothing that ever made sense. The explosion was enough to take Gongaga fully off the grid, and the line would cut dead every time I tried to ring my folks, so how could they even be sure of anything, let alone casualties, if they couldn’t reach anyone _in_ Gongaga and weren’t sending anyone to check? So, when I was sixteen, I packed my bags and hitched a ride to Gongaga to make sure my folks were okay. And never looked back.”

He casts his gaze down and Tifa is struck by the unfamiliarity of his expression, the open, fragile vulnerability laid so clear in his eyes. So unlike his usual overbearing cheerfulness. She’d once compared him to the sun after mere weeks of knowing him, casting blinding and almost painfully bright rays into her life, when all she wanted to do was waste slowly away. 

“Sorry.” He shakes his head and lets the pin drop from his hand. It bounces off the floor and under the bed, out of sight. “I know it’s stupid. I know they’re the bad guys. I don’t regret coming back here. But at the time I thought I was really making a difference. I thought I could become some kinda hero or something.” He screws his eyes shut and wheezes brokenly. “It’s so, so stupid.”

“Your feelings aren’t stupid,” she says, repeating the words he’d said to her so many times over, every time she burst into sudden tears that would ruin an otherwise good day. He never let it stay ruined, and somehow always managed to crack even the tiniest of smiles back onto her face. “They’re important, and I’m here for you, and, and—and so what if you never made First Class! So what to SOLDIER and Shinra! So what to heroes! What matters is that you came back and every day you worked to rebuild Gongaga, to make it what it is today. You helped make this town completely independent of Mako power. You’re amazing!”

He cracks a tiny smile at that. “You know dad did all the actual technical work. All I did was follow his orders. Lift things and junk.”

“You were _here_ when they needed you.” He was here when she first opened her eyes, terrified and alone and so, so angry after her whole world burned to ash. He was here for her every day after that, without fail, helping her pick up the pieces of her life to build something new. And somehow, seeing him now, broken down and just as human and fragile and lost as she is, makes her realize just how much she wants to be here for him, too. Her heart stutters in her chest at the thought and oh, no, so much for getting over that secret massive crush she’s been harboring on her friend.

She glances up just in time to see his gaze flicker across her face before looking away. He swallows audibly and she’s entranced by way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, is caught off guard by a particularly acute familiarity she can’t quite place. 

“So, um,” Zack says after a measured pause, eyes settling on their hands which are still firmly wrapped around each other. He pries them free from hers with a noticeable flinch and Tifa tries not to feel so disappointed. “Your birthday’s coming up—have you thought about what you want? Your hair is getting really long, isn’t it?” 

She blinks. What a pair of non sequiturs. Her birthday is indeed coming up and her hair _has_ grown in the almost two years she’s been in Gongaga, when they’d had to lop off all the burnt ends so short it barely fell past her ears. She runs her hands through the length of it now, watches as her hair falls back into place just past her chest, almost as long as it had been, before. In her periphery she catches him staring, his eyes flickering over her face as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing all over again. And then comes a memory unbidden. Of the diner last week after the tables were cleared and the check was paid. Of the starry Nibelheim night sky so many years ago at the water tower. 

Oh. _That’s_ what’s so familiar about the sight.

“Tifa?” 

She tears her eyes away from his throat, licking her lips. “Huh?” 

It’s exactly what she remembers seeing just before getting kissed. 

“What do you want?” 

What does she want? For so much of her life things had been decided for her, dictated for her, until everything was taken away. And even then she’s had so much given back in spades already. It feels selfish to want more from people who have given so much out of just the kindness of their hearts. It feels selfish, so selfish, and yet— “Kiss me.” 

Zack’s eyes balloon wide. 

Silence.

Well, she’s gone and done it now. And she knows she has a tiny window of a chance to take it back, to laugh and brush it off and leave their friendship safely intact. But is that what she wants? And from the way his eyes darken and flicker towards her lips, she can’t help but wonder: what does Zack want?

“Nathan.”

“Excuse me?”

He sends her a searching look. “Aren’t you dating him?”

Oh. Right. Well. “I mean we went on _a_ date.” At Maya’s insistence. But wait. “How did you—”

Zack winces, caught. “I, uh, was getting a milkshake at the diner.”

So he saw them. Saw _her_. On a date last week. The last week in which he had thrown himself into a giant fantasy series and barely said a word to her. The imperceptible shift in his demeanor. Her sinking feeling that something was somehow wrong and that she was at the center of it.

“Were you jealous?” she blurts out, and then covers her silly mouth with her hands because that can’t be— 

“Yeah.” 

His easy admission catches her off guard—though he’s always been honest to a fault—and it makes her feel weightless and floaty and bold. “So do something about it,” she dares, closing her eyes and lifting her face to his, fisting his bedsheets in her hands. Her back is ramrod straight and made of steel.

“ _Now_?” He squeaks and her steel crumbles. 

“Wha—of course now!” 

“But your birthday is in three days!”

“You want this hanging over our heads for three days?!” 

“No, no I guess not.” He covers his face with his hands, peers at her through his fingers. “Um, okay. You’re _sure_ sure?”

Becoming less sure by the second, but still she nods and screws her eyes shut again, but this time she turns her entire body toward him. And this time she feels the bed dip under his weight as he leans in, breath warm over her eyelashes, a featherlight caress against her jaw slanting her face higher and— _oh_. 

His lips are soft and sun-chapped, pliant and warm and so gentle against her mouth. She’s not sure why it would feel different than before—than all two of her other kissing experiences—but it still feels a little like nothing. Just skin against skin.

He pulls back a little and murmurs, “ _Breathe_ , Tifa,” and she hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath so she inhales through her nose and then his lips are back on hers and this time he _moves_ , presses deeper and it feels different, better, makes her brain go a little fuzzy and her knees jelly weak and she wants more of it, mimics his motion and that sets them both off completely. 

It feels both too short and an eternity before they finally part, gasping for air. He presses his forehead against hers and laughs softly. “So. How was it?” His tone is airy, but his eyes look so vulnerable again, and his lips so very shiny. It’s both endearing and thrilling all at once. 

“Um,” she exhales shakily, feeling warm and glowy all over, “do I have to wait a whole year for another one?”

His cheeks dimple into an impossibly bright smile. “You’ll never have to wait again if—if that’s what you really want.” 

And that’s what Tifa really wants. So she throws her arms around his neck and surges forward, knocking them both backward onto the bed, laughing messily into his mouth as his hands snake around her waist and the pads of his fingers find skin under the hem of her shirt and she shivers and gasps and—the door swings open. 

“Kids, do you want some apples—” Evelyn’s voice trails off and Tifa buries her face into Zack’s shoulder, unable to look up. “Well, I’ll just leave these here, then.” 

“Thanks, mom,” Zack says, voice gravelly and strained.

The door shuts, but it’s not enough to drown out Evelyn’s cheerful, “Adrien, honey, we might have to add some protection to Tifa’s gift this year!”

Tifa rolls off of Zack’s body so that she’s lying face up at the foot of his bed and covers her flaming face with her hands. “I will never be able to face your parents ever again.”

“You will. But we can leave through the window later, promise.” He tries to pry her fingers loose from her face but she’s not quite sure she can face him, either. But then there’s a gentle nip in the hollow of her neck that startles her fingers loose and suddenly she finds herself staring up at his face.

“Hey,” he says, and she’s at least glad to see that he looks almost as red as she feels.

“Hey,” she replies, lowering one hand to press against the now searing spot on her neck.

“So, do you want some fruit?”

 _No_ , Tifa thinks, but Zack is already hopping off the bed and heading toward the door. He twists the lock with a sharp click and returns empty handed, much to Tifa’s delight.

Later, he pops his window wide open and leaps onto the branch of the nearest tree, climbs down the trunk with what is definitely way too practiced ease. He dusts off his hands, opens his arms wide, and tells her to jump.

She trusts him. So she jumps.

And lands neatly into his arms. He lowers her to the ground, but before she can say goodnight, he takes her by the hand and leads them down the street toward her room at the inn. 

“You don’t have to walk me, it’s right there,” she protests, laughing, which just makes him hold on tighter.

“Yeah, but I want to.” He shrugs, but the smile he sends her is a little lopsided, a little shy, and completely brand new. 

(Eventually Tifa learns it’s a smile just for her.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I wanted to get to chapter 10 before the year and my break from work ended, but alas, this one got a little away from me and wanted to end even cheesier than it already did. (Side note: I cannot believe I’m sitting on nearly 10k words of this story now, oml, ain’t no getting off of this ship we’re on I guess?????) 
> 
> Anyway thank you so much for reading, happy new year, and see y’all in 2021!


	9. sweater

“Oh, is it comfy oversized sweater weather already?” Zack asks, swooping down to kiss the smooth, exposed skin of Tifa’s shoulder. 

She glances up at him with a half-smile which grows full bloom against his lips. “Yup, the one time of year you can steal my clothes for a change.” 

“I _do_ look great in your off the shoulder blue fuzzy number.” She laughs at that and it makes him feel a little better. He came home to the smell of incense filling the entire house, noted the date on the calendar by the hallway as he padded his way into the kitchen, where he found her, as expected, sitting at the kitchen table, hands around a mug of tea, lost in thought as she stared out into the backyard. 

Zack pries the mug of tea from her hands and takes a sip. Lukewarm. So she’s been at it for a while. “What are you so lost in thought about?” He asks, replacing the mug in her hands and taking the seat across from her.

“Snow.”

“Snow?”

“I was thinking about it as I took the comfy sweaters out of storage—how I haven’t seen snow in years now. Back in Nibelheim, around this time, we’d be bundled up in puffy winter coats awaiting the second or third snowfall of the year.” Her voice takes on a dreamy quality as her eyes glaze over, and Zack blinks. 

Tifa doesn’t talk about Nibelheim. Not ever in all the time he’s known her. 

Not since she was fifteen and angry and reckless and tried to steal the Fair family car in the middle of the night with a backpack full of supplies and a ridiculous plan in her head.

Not since he caught her red-handed while grabbing himself a midnight snack, and realized that the only way to beat her was to _join_ her, to drive her there himself so she wouldn’t hurt anyone—especially herself—scribbled a note for his parents and left it in place of the keys. 

Not since they drove six hours straight into the night, stopping only once for gas and caffeine and a bag full of snacks. 

Not since the sun rose overhead just as they drove up upon a town that should have been burned to ash.

Not since she tore out of the car before he even rolled to a stop, skidded on her knees in a mad dash through the town gates, pale as a sheet as she wandered from door to door, muttering, _It can’t be._

Not since she stumbled past the water tower in the heart of the town, toward a two-story house with a bright red door, knocking her fist against the wood so hard she bloodied her knuckles.

Not since she screamed at a confused elderly couple because _This is my house!_ and _Who are you?_ and _How? Why?!_

Not since he had to throw her over his shoulder and carry her kicking and screaming out of the town before they were arrested, placed her back into the passenger seat where she curled up into a tight ball and cried her tiny heart out. 

Not since hours later, spent and weary, she exited the car with her backpack, stopping just before the town gates, took out a stick of incense and stuck it into the ground, lighting it with a match and dropping her head in prayer.

Not since they drove all the way back to Gongaga, stopping only once for bandages and peroxide for her hand, and never spoke of it again.

Tifa doesn’t talk about Nibelheim, but she is now. So Zack listens.

He listens to how the entire town used to celebrate the changing of the seasons by cutting down fresh pine trees and decorating them in their homes with twinkling fairy lights. How they would sit by a warm and flickering fireplace at night, drinking hot apple cider with plenty of cinnamon and nutmeg. How after every snowfall, they would go outside with their ice boxes and spoons and collect fresh snow that they would quickly run back home with to enjoy, drizzled with honey, berries, and nuts. How beautiful the Nibel Mountains looked in winter’s twilight. 

Zack listens until long after the sun has set and the tea has cooled completely.

“Sorry, I don’t know what came over me so suddenly,” Tifa sniffs, rubbing at her eyes and averting her gaze. “You must be starving, I’ll get dinner started.” 

He catches her wrist before she can busy herself in the kitchen and bury her hometown all over again. “You were worried.”

“Huh?”

“Back then.” He traces his thumb over the sharp jut of her wrist. “You were worried the incense wouldn’t reach your dad—that it wouldn’t help lead his soul to the other side of the mountain.”

She lets him tug her into his lap with a light sigh, tucks her head into the crook of his shoulder. “You remembered.”

“I remember everything about you.” He brushes his lips against the crown of her head. “It’s why you light incense every year at the start of December, right?” 

Her breath warms his collar bone. “I’ve always regretted it—not being able to control myself long enough to just make it up to the mountain for him. And then I would feel guilty because I just couldn’t bring myself to go back.”

Zack purses his lips. “And now?” 

“Now?” 

“Would you wanna go back now?” 

Tifa leans back to look at him, bemused. “What are you talking about? We can’t—”

“We can. We can drive over this weekend, and we wouldn’t even have to stay in town. We can bring supplies, camp out in the mountains—eat some snow.” He smiles softly. “Light some incense for your dad.” 

“Nibelheim winters are no joke.” She sucks in a shaky breath. “Definitely not comfy oversized sweater weather.”

“It’s a good thing I’ve got a tent, a giant sleeping bag, and two body-length puffy jackets in storage.” 

She eyes him through suspicious, red-rimmed eyes. “How long have you been planning this?”

“Long enough.” He wraps his arms around her waist to pull her closer and she sighs again, this time sweetly, against his temple.

“Dad would have loved you.”

“Really?”

“No.” She laughs as if she can see his disgruntled pout. “But he would have liked you well enough because _I_ love you.”

“Good enough for me.” He squeezes her tighter. “So let’s go, yeah? Make sure he’s able to finally meet your mom.”

“Yeah. Let’s go meet them there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by Szajnie, Calytrix, and Potato, because apparently all it takes is a night of commission conspiring to really kickstart the part of my brain that wants to write and doesn’t want to let me SLEEP. May the raffle be kind to us all. *weeps in crossed fingers*


	10. stray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s the mf season finale, y’all! Which is a thing I decided a few weeks ago as a good excuse to break from this series to finish up some other stuff. Otherwise I might drown in this ship forever.

After a quick breakfast scramble of eggs, bacon, and any leftover vegetables in the fridge, they pack their car with thermoses of iced coffee and tea, two tote bags full of snacks and MREs, a giant canister of hot water, and all their cold weather and camping gear. Tifa navigates until they’re on the main highway and then they’re cruising along, Gongaga just a speck of green in the rearview mirror. Zack pops the arm rest compartment between them, finds and slips on a pair of rhinestone studded, aquamarine sunglasses over his nose. On opposite ends of the frame are protruding figures of a cheering moogle and chocobo.

Tifa nearly spits out her coffee in laughter. “You still have those?”

“They’re from our trip to the Gold Saucer, of course I saved em! What am I gonna do, waste money on _non_ sparkly pair of sunglasses instead?”

“You’re right, I don’t know _what_ I was thinking.”

She fiddles with the dials until she lands on a station playing some sugar candy pop that has Zack immediately bopping his head, and then sits back into her seat and sips at her coffee. In the car, with Zack concentrating on the road and nothing but the blur of scenery and the passage of time to distract her, the feeling that kept her up all night creeps slowly back into her gut, snaking up her throat and threatening to swallow her whole. She tries to drown it down with her coffee, but it doesn’t quite do the trick. Especially when her thermos runs empty. So she peels the top off a bag of jerky and sticks a piece between her teeth before plonking two into Zack’s open and eager mouth.

“Fanks,” he says around the mouthful before immediately choking.

Tifa opens his thermos and hands it over with a scowl. “Chew your food!”

He swallows painfully, clears his throat, and not two seconds later he’s reaching back over for more. She swats his hand away until he promises, sullenly, “All right, all right, twenty bites each.”

She absolutely counts only ten before his hand is back at it, and when she tips the bag just out of reach, his fingers drum impatiently against her thigh. “Okay, but you better chew before swallowing this time,” Tifa warns before breaking off a small chunk and plopping it into his mouth.

To his credit, he does chew twenty times before replying, “That is _not_ what he said.”

“Oh my god.”

“Can we open the cheese puffs next?”

“Yes, yes.”

*

One minute Tifa’s hopping back into the car after their third restroom break, the next minute she feels a light tug on her seatbelt. She opens her eyes with a great big yawn, arches her back and stretches as much as she can in the passenger seat. Above her is brilliant blue underneath a long stretch of wispy, translucent clouds, stretching slowly through the sky like spun sugar.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Where are we now?”

“Here.”

“Where?”

“ _Here_ ,” Zack repeats, reaching over to muss the top of her hair all over. She swats him away and yawns again.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You didn’t sleep well last night.” Ah, so he noticed.

He unclicks his seatbelt and exits the car to stretch out his whole body—and then immediately scrambles right back inside. “It is _freezing_ out here!” he hisses, running his hands up and down the length of his forearms, rubbing away the gooseflesh under short sleeves.

“Nibelheim winters.” As she says it, that unpleasant feeling coils viselike around her heart again. She swallows thickly and unfastens her seatbelt, reaches into the backseat for Zack’s sweater and jacket and tosses them over to him. He pulls them over his body with a grateful sigh, and once Tifa has also zipped her new coat all the way up to her chin, he glances her way.

“Ready?”

Nope. “Yeah.”

She opens her door and the sting of cold, sharp, mountain air staggers her, lights every nerve of her body on icy fire. She turns right back around and braces her arms on either side of the door, doubles over, takes several deep, gasping breaths to no avail. Something clatters behind her and then there’s a hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles down her spine.

“We don’t have to go in.”

She shakes her head and wills herself to breathe. “No, we came all this way…and dad…”

Zack helps her out of the car but doesn’t let her go, keeps an arm slung around her waist as they head straight through the town gates. Tifa’s eyes flick wildly through the streets, every image superimposing itself onto a distant memory, like a spot-the-difference game of nightmarish trauma. They round the bend of the water tower and her eyes instinctively search for the bright red door of a two story house—but Zack’s hand is faster, travels up her back and over her head, gently pressing it down and mussing up her hair over her eyes for good measure.

She keeps her head low after that, lets him greet townsfolk with cheerful _hellos_ and _how-do-you-dos_ , charming strangers just as quickly as he leads them through town. Tifa only raises her eyes at the crunch of snow underfoot, and when she does she’s met with the sight of the Nibel mountains looming tall and imposing above. She shivers and the chill settles straight into her bones.

They set up their tent further into the mountains, where the path levels out flat and the wind is neatly blocked by two different mountain ridges. Inside, they crank up their battery-powered portable heater and shiver and sigh as it slowly wheezes to life. The water in their canister is still hot, so they make tea and tear into the rice balls Zack prepared last night.

After polishing off his last bite, Zack shucks off his jacket and crawls into the sleeping bag. Tifa wrinkles her nose. “You really shouldn’t lie down right after eating.”

“Just a quick nap,” he replies drowsily, eyes already half-lidded and falling fast. “Someone kept me up all night.”

There’s no arguing with that, so the sound of his heavy breathing against the backdrop of whistling mountain wind is soon the only thing filling the silence and it’s not enough to keep Tifa’s thoughts at bay so she unzips her backpack and notices too late that her plastic incense container has cracked and the scent of jasmine explodes everywhere. Her mother’s scent. The Nibel mountains. Tinkling piano keys. The two-story house with the bright red door—

“C’mere.” Zack’s eyes are still closed, but his arm slips out of the sleeping bag to grope blindly for her.

“No, I’m okay.” She blinks back her tears. “I napped, remember?”

He somehow finds her hand and tugs. “ _Tifa_.”

She complies, slips off her jacket but takes the time to fold hers and his into a neat pile in the corner of the tent, is a shivering mess by the time she climbs into the sleeping bag after him. Her back hits the warmth of his chest and his arms wrap around her instinctively, protectively, and all her muscles relax at once. Full and warm and tucked snug against Zack’s body, Tifa’s eyes droop and her mind clears and she could almost fall asleep.

Almost.

“I thought you were sleepy.” She wiggles her butt experimentally and the hard poke against her ass answers back, followed by wandering hands.

“I am,” he murmurs, nosing her neck, “but it occurs to me we’ve never done it in a sleeping bag.”

“What about when we went camping last summer?”

“We didn’t make it to the sleeping bag.” He nips at her ear. “Or the tent for that matter.”

Ah, that’s right. She found bits of leaves in her clothes for days after.

It was worth it.

“Well, I guess we’ve gotta try it now.”

“For science.”

His skin finally finds hers under all those layers. “F-for science.”

*

The sun’s already set by the time they wake to the sound of shrill mountain wind, and the temptation to remain snuggled in the warm comfort of their sleeping bag is tempting indeed. But, Tifa thinks, more tempting is the prospect of leaving this town, perhaps once and for all, sooner rather than later.

“You sure we shouldn’t wait until it’s light out?” Zack asks, shivering even though his hood is drawn up and pinched tight around his face.

“You’ve got the best guide in town.” She clicks on her flashlight with more conviction than she feels.

Tifa leads them up the mountain slowly, taking great pains to keep their footing on the slippery slick icy trails and stopping every time the wind threatens to blow them astray. Eventually they reach a familiar fork in the path, but instead of following either direction, she lifts the leaves of a great pine tree and ducks underneath them. On the other side rests a small, crumbling stone shrine that Tifa can barely believe is still standing at all.

Zack grabs the flashlight and holds it up so she can dig into her bag for the incense. She accidentally breaks two against the brittle wind before managing to place a single stick in the groove of the shrine, lights it with the several flicks of a lighter

The scent of jasmine ignites the air and her eyes prickle.

“So.” Zack places a hand on the small of her back. “What now?”

“Now we pray for my dad’s soul to follow the scent to the other side of the mountain.”

“Show me?”

So she shows him, dips her head and leads him into an old Nibelheim prayer, struggles to remember the very last verse lost to years gone by. They finish just as the last wisps of smoke filter into the air. Zack lifts the remnant of the incense stick and shakes it off, slips it into her pocket. “For remembrance.”

“Thank you.”

He smiles with his teeth, which has the unfortunate side effect of wracking his whole body with shivers. Funny that, how she’s already gotten accustomed to the aching chill in her bones. She wiggles her toes in her boots. “Let’s get some sleep and head back in the morning.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

They walk nearly the entire way back in silence until Tifa stops short. Zack barrels into her with an _oof_ which sends the flashlight spiraling out of her shaking hands.

“What’s wrong?”

She takes a steadying breath and bends to retrieve the light, angles it toward something she was hoping was just in her imagination.

“Tifa?”

“Blood.” And a good deal of it, a pool of deep red against the glittering white of snow, just underneath a rusted metal bear trap. The trap has been sprung, but is empty, and the red trails further down the mountain path toward the general direction of their tent.

“Are there bears up here?”

“No.” Worse.

He must hear the strain in her voice because he lowers his. “Let me lead.” She nods, and they forge on carefully, Tifa pressed close to his side, stopping to listen for every whisper of wind and crack of a twig. The trail goes cold and they reach their tent without incident.

Except for the huddled mass just to the side of it.

“What is—Zack, wait!” But Zack is already rushing over, skidding on his knees across icy snow. When she shines the light over him, she sees him leaning down to the tiny brown _something_ flecked with red cradled in his lap.

“A…dog?” A teeny, tiny one at that.

“I think it’s breathing, but not well.” Zack’s worried blue eyes meet hers and she gnaws on her bottom lip.

“Well, we can’t keep it in the tent with us.” When Zack looks crestfallen at that, she adds, impatiently, “We need to take it into town!”

“Y-you sure?”

She glances at the tiny shivering creature in his arms and nods. “I’m sure.”

*

It’s late, their camping gear is stacked and dripping all over the lobby, and they have to wait five whole minutes after ringing the bell for the innkeep to appear. She’s dressed in a bathrobe with gray hair done up in pastel pink rollers, and doesn’t sound all too keen for the business. Zack doesn’t let it deter him, lays on the charm thick and requests a room for the night.

“Didn’t y’all arrive today to camp up in the mountains? And with a baby _that_ small?” Her voice is a low rasp, and Tifa can feel smoldering eyes from all the way across the room. The dog is swaddled in one of her extra sweaters like a baby, and she rocks it gently side to side and hopes it stays asleep. “Now ya want a room?”

“You know, dumb kids in love. A mountain camping trip sounded romantic at the time!”

“Nibelheim winters are no joke,” she drawls in an unfamiliar accent, and something pangs in Tifa’s chest all over again until she notices a tiny tongue dart out from the dog’s mouth. It stays put, crooked and pink.

“Lesson learned!” The innkeep curls her lip in what looks like the beginnings of a smile, but it just as swiftly disappears as she ducks her head to rummage under the counter. She dangles a set of keys from her finger and Zack snatches it up.

“Thank you and good night,” he pauses, eyes flickering toward the nameplate on the counter, “Edna.”

When they get to their room, Tifa sheds her coat in the doorway and hurries to the bathroom, fills the sink halfway with warm water, and gently sets the dog in it. Behind her, Zack rolls up her sleeves and she shoots him a grateful smile as she pumps a bit of soap into her hands and lathers up, massages fur and feet and soft pink belly all over.

“Aha, aren’t you a good girl, little one,” Tifa says soothingly as tiny eyes flutter but don’t open. Still, Tifa takes it as a positive sign, even as the water stains pink and brown. She lets the sink drain as she cards her fingers through wet fur and is glad enough not finding a single abrasion to worry about what did in fact leave such a daunting trail of blood. She rinses the last bits of soap off with a fresh round of warm water, and Tifa notes how the fur is completely snow white down to her dainty little eyelashes, though the rims around her eyes, snout, and mouth are a stark black contrast against it.

Zack grabs a towel and they work together to gently pat her dry, but when her tiny frame starts shivering again, Tifa rustles up a hairdryer from the sink cabinet, plugs it in, and hopes. They’re rewarded with a burst of warm air, and, aided by Zack’s personal hair brush, they manage to dry her completely down and even brush out some of her matted fur, which has poofed up tremendously. Before Tifa can dwell too long on what breed of dog she might be, though, tiny black eyes blink open.

“She’s awake!” Zack cheers, scooping her up and pressing her face against his, and any worried protest dies on Tifa’s lips when a tiny pink tongue darts out the corner of the dog’s mouth to lick him on the nose.

Zack sets the little one onto the bed and Tifa pours some water into a paper cup and holds it out for her. She drinks with such wild abandon that drops of water flick everywhere and she ends up hacking and coughing in her haste. But she recovers just as fast and drains the entire cup, before glancing up at them and licking her lips.

“She must be hungry, but all we have left for the trip are MREs.” Tifa hums thoughtfully and stubby white ears twitch in her direction. “I don’t think there’s much good for her in those.”

“Well,” Zack offers, picking up a card from the desk and twirling it between the points of his two index fingers, “apparently the Nibel Lodge offers room service.”

“At this hour? With all the fuss of even getting the room?”

“It _says_ twenty-four hour service. And hey, at these prices I think she’ll make an exception. And a tidy profit.”

Tifa raises her eyebrows skeptically. “You’re ordering.”

“Of course, Edna loves me!”

With much preamble and a lot of sweet talk, Zack orders a plain breast of chicken with rice and vegetables, the largest steak on the menu with a baked potato, and a bowl of their famous beef stew.

Tifa settles herself against the headboard of the bed as Zack tears into a pack of crackers from an MRE and flips through the same seven channels on the dinky television set up. He tosses a few pieces to the dog, who crunches through them with delight. When the pack is empty and there’s nothing more to give, however, she pads over toward Tifa, circling around twice, before curling herself into a ball against Tifa’s thigh. Tifa smiles and runs her fingers through soft white fur, and immediately the dog flips onto her back, exposing her pink belly. She skates her fingers against the skin and hind legs kick in the air with pleasure as little black eyes slowly, slowly, blink shut.

A full episode of some canned laughter sitcom later, there’s a knock at the door. The little one scrambles up in full alert and Tifa quickly throws part of the blanket over her tiny form as Zack cracks the door open.

“Room service.”

“You’re a peach, Edna!” Zack sets the trays onto the desk near the door and slips her some gil for the trouble. When she remains, umoving, Zack chuckles and hands over some more before she finally walks away, satisfied. And it’s not a second too soon because the little one eagerly noses her way out from under the covers, sniffing wildly at the air, stomach rumbling audibly.

“A dog after my own heart,” Zack says with affection, rubbing her behind the ears before cutting a portion of the chicken platter into bite-sized pieces. Tifa watches as she quickly demolishes the portion set in front of her, and then continues to lap up every crumb of the seconds Zack slides onto the plate.

Tifa is so caught up in watching that Zack has to physically place a spoon in her hand and the tray on her lap to remind her to eat. She sniffs. It smells nice. And judging by the way both the dog and Zack are all but licking their plates clean, it’s probably pretty good too. And, now that the scent of beefy goodness wafts right under her nose, Tifa realizes she’s starving. So she takes a spoonful, blows it cool, and takes a bite.

It’s—different. The ingredients are familiar, locally sourced as described by the menu—and she recognizes the purple parsnips, starchy Nibel potatoes, and tiny bell mushrooms foraged from the mountains. It certainly doesn’t taste the way it should—the way her mother used to make, the way every mother in Nibelheim used to make—but it’s not bad. It’s really quite good. She cleans the bowl without realizing it, only does when metal clangs against empty porcelain. She notices Zack’s stare a second after that.

“What?” She feels silly and self conscious, as if he’s already read her mind and thinks she’s thinking too hard about a simple bowl of stew, but then he’s crossing over to her, swooping down to her face. He licks the corner of her mouth.

“You missed some.” He pulls back with a grin. “Shower?”

“Do I stink?”

“Only of perfection.” She laughs at that. “But it’ll make you feel better.”

He’s right, of course. There’s nothing quite like a good shower after a stressful night at the diner or a particularly rigorous workout, so she goes and showers. And even though the water is only mildly warm and the pressure is low, it does make her feel better. She scrubs her hair and skin clean with the all-in-one, overly floral scented gel in the tub, lingers in the spray a good few minutes longer. Then feels a bit guilty because Zack is just as tired and cold as she is, surely, and he’s been so thoughtful all day, so she shuts off the nozzle and quickly towels off. “All yours!” Tifa calls, still touseling her hair dry as she pads into the bedroom. She drops it near immediately with a gasp. “Zack?!”

Zack is halfway out the window, butt wriggling in the air, a sight that would be comical if she wasn’t so concerned. “What are you doing?”

“It’s snowing!” is his muffled response, and when he shimmies bodily back into the room he’s got a bowl filled with freshly fallen snow. “Quick, there’s some honey and a can of nuts in my backpack.”

Warmth blooms in her chest. “The forecast didn’t even call for snow.”

“Yeah, but I packed it just in case. Hurry, hurry!”

So she hurries, and they drizzle honey and nuts over the fresh snow and eat it with a single shared spoon that they let the dog lick clean when they’re done. And it’s not exactly the way it should be—the way it used to be—Gongaga honey is richer and sweeter, and they never imported macadamia nuts in Nibelheim, but it’s not bad, not bad at all.

It’s nearly perfect.

*

Tifa wakes to a fluffy butt. And it’s not Zack’s. Some time in the middle of the night, the little one must have moved from the foot of the bed to curl into a ball on her pillow. She skritches the fur of her back and little legs kick out in a languid stretch. Tifa can’t help running her fingers against the soft black pads of her paws, and hind legs instantly tuck back under fluffy white fur. Tifa giggles and Zack leans over to kiss her on the forehead.

“Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“Did you sleep well?”

Tifa considers, still stroking soft white fur. “I did.”

“Good. So what’s the plan for today?”

“We eat some breakfast and then head into town.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The breakfast is good, though the coffee is not, and Tifa has stolen about half of Zack’s tea by the time they’re finished. When they’re washed up and ready to head out, Zack decides to remove the covers from the pillows and tie them together.

“What are you—” Tifa starts, but shrugs and decides to let it play out until Zack is ready to explain himself. He loops the tied pillowcases around his neck and under one arm, and then scoops the dog neatly into the makeshift sling. “Huh? Huh? Isn’t this great? Now Tofu and I are ready to hit the town!”

“Very cu— _Tofu_?”

“Yeah, doesn’t she look like a block of Tofu now that she’s all clean?”

“You gave her a _name_?”

“You don’t like it?”

She does, and it _is_ cute, and the dog really does look like a block of Tofu. But. “Oh, oh, _Zack_. We’re going into town to find her family.”

Zack instantly deflates. “What?”

“A dog like this—you think she could be a stray? Her owners must be worried sick for her.” Zack’s lower lip juts out. “If she were ours, wouldn’t you hope someone would find her and bring her back to us?”

“I guess I hadn’t really thought about that.” He sighs and glances down at the little dog in his sling, whose eyes are slowly fluttering closed as her tongue peeks out the side of her mouth. “But can we at least call her Tofu until then?”

“We can,” Tifa replies, and offers him a tiny sad smile that he mirrors back to her.

She helps Zack slip on his jacket one arm at a time and he zips it up to his chest, tugs part of the sling over it, so that Tofu can rest snugly with her face open to the world. But it’s far too cold to be walking around with a bare neck, so Tifa removes her scarf to wrap around Zack, draping the length of the remaining fabric over Tofu like a blanket.

Knocking on houses and talking to strangers is more of Zack’s forte, so he begrudgingly walks up to every door and knocks, makes polite conversation, and then comes back with the biggest grin on his face when he can announce, “They don’t own a dog.” By noon they’ve covered the whole left side of town, and they decide to take a break to check out the farmer’s market being set up in the central area. They let their noses guide them for lunch, munching on meat and veggie skewers, homemade rice balls, fried parsnips, and dried persimmons crusted with sugar. Zack sneaks bites of everything to Tofu, and Tifa pretends not to notice as they stroll through various stalls selling vegetables and spices and dried goods. She loads her bag up until it’s full to bursting with ingredients for a stew, perhaps.

After, they drop off their purchases at the inn and tackle the houses on the right side of town. Knock, talk, retreat. Not a single family is missing a dog. Eventually there’s just one house left.

“I’ll take this one,” Tifa says softly, placing a hand on Zack’s shoulder.

“You sure?”

The coil in her chest reaches an icy fever pitch, but she nods. “I’m sure.”

It’s just a house, after all.

A house with a faded, pale yellow door.

Tifa freezes in her tracks, and before she can reconcile pale yellow against bright red, the door swings open and a tiny child with hair like sunshine hops onto the pavement with arms splayed out like a plane.

“Brrrr—oh, hello!” she says upon noticing Tifa, blinking curious green eyes up at her. She has platinum blond hair tied into pigtails and she’s wearing a fluffy magenta parka and thick gray tights. “What’s your name, miss?”

“O-oh? I’m Tifa.” She leans down so that they’re eye level.

“What a pretty name. Nice to meet you, Miss Tifa!” She grins and there is a gap where her two front teeth should be.

“And you are?”

“My name is Elsie! I live here with my mom. Do you know my mom?”

“No, I don’t—”

“Moooom! There’s someone who wants to meet you!”

“Ah—”

The door swings open again, revealing a woman with strawberry blond hair with her hands on her hips.

“Elsie, are you bothering folks again?”

She scurries behind Tifa’s legs with a pout. “Noooo.”

Elsie’s mom seems less than convinced, shoots her daughter a suspicious glance before turning to Tifa. “I’m sorry if my girl is giving you some trouble. She’s quite the chatterbox.”

“No, not at all. Elsie’s been nothing but charming.” Elsie sticks her tongue out at her mom before running off making plane noises again, and Tifa can’t help but chuckle at the sight. “In fact, I was the one who was standing before your door.”

“Oh, is something the matter, dear?” Elsie’s mom has warm brown eyes that soften sweetly with motherly concern and Tifa feels her eyes prickle all over.

“I’m so, so sorry to disturb you,” Tifa says, voice thick with emotion that she tries to swallow back. She should ask if they’re missing a dog, she should ask about Tofu, but the question that bubbles forth is— “How long have you lived in this house?”

She inclines her head and purses her lips in serious consideration, as if a stranger hadn’t just shown up at her door asking ridiculous questions. “Hmmm, let’s see. We moved in around a year ago now, me and Elsie.”

“Just you and Elsie?”

She nods.

“And the townspeople—are they nice to you?”

“They’ve been nothing but lovely.”

“That’s great. That’s really great.” Tears are definitely blurring her vision now and spilling down all over her cheeks, but she can still see the obvious compassion in those warm brown eyes.

“My dear girl, is everything okay?”

“No, yes. I uh—I’m sorry, this is so silly. But I used to live in this house a long…long time ago.”

“Oh!” Elsie’s mom opens the door wider and gestures within. “Would you like to come in and take a look around?”

“Thank you, but I’m all right now.” She wipes furiously at her face and turns away before she can embarrass herself any further. “I hope you have a wonderful day!”

When she walks straight into Zack’s chest, his arms wrap tightly around her, careful not to squish Tofu between them too hard, and presses his lips against the crown of her head.

“You okay?”

She nods even though Zack’s scarf is quickly becoming damp with her tears.

“The couple who were living in my house—no, in _that_ house all those years ago.” She hiccups. “They said they lived there all their lives, but they said it so _weirdly_. So quickly. Like they were reading from a script or something.” It had been the thing that tipped her purely into a youthful rage, the audacity of their easy lies, as if there were no casualties from it. “But children can’t lie, not like that.” And even a conspiracy coverup from the most powerful company in the world can only last so long. Even Shinra can’t stop people from moving on or in as much as they can’t stop the passage of time. Life goes on and it might be different, and she and Zack might be the only two people in the world to know it—who would believe them, after all. But if life gets better for some people—for sweet, unconventional families in otherwise small, and no longer so judgemental towns. Maybe that’s enough.

And just like that, the snakelike vise in her chest finally unfurls a little.

“Let’s go home,” Tifa says, kissing Zack on the cheek before dropping her face and kissing Tofu on the head. She’s rewarded in turn with a tiny pink tongue wiping away all the salt off her cheeks.

“Miss Tifa!” Elsie’s back again, zooming toward them with her arms stretched out. She stops right in front of them and turns an awestruck glance at Tofu, reaches up just as Zack leans down so she can pat her on the head. “Is that Mr. Wolfy’s puppy?”

“Huh?”

“You know, Mr. Wolfy?” At their blank stares she huffs with all the impatience of a child. “He lives in the log cabin just near the entrance to the mountains. He has dogs that look just like this one.”

Tifa frowns thoughtfully. “Elsie, there’s no cabin near the mountains.”

“Sure there is! Right there!”

Tifa follows Elsie's finger to the other side of town, past the water tower and past the row of houses and somehow, just near the entrance to the mountains, is in fact a log cabin she completely missed the day before. A log cabin she has absolutely no memory of.

*

With obvious trepidation, Zack walks up to the wooden door of the log cabin owned by one “Mr. Wolfy” and knocks, so softly that Tifa barely hears it over the wind. “Looks like no one is here,” Zack announces, spinning on his heel just as the entire log cabin erupts into thundering footfalls and a chorus of howling barks. Zack winces, Tifa’s breath catches in her throat, and Tofu emits a tiny yowl as the door opens.

A man with a head and beard of thick salt-and-pepper hair, dressed in all brown leather, leans against the doorframe. His eyes are milky white behind dark sepia-toned frames, but still they alight upon Tifa, and then Zack, before lowering to Zack’s chest. Behind him is a metal gate keeping a gaggle of fluffy white dogs from parading right out of the house. All of them are much bigger than Tofu, but otherwise look nearly identical to her.

He nods at them before turning back into his house, walking over the metal gate and leaving the door open in his wake. Tifa finds Zack’s hand to give it a gentle, sympathetic squeeze, as they follow, closing the door behind them. Over the metal gate, dogs clamor everywhere, pawing at legs and knees with thick front paws and wagging fluffy white tails in greeting. Zack gently scoops Tofu from his sling and she wriggles impatiently out of his hands to join the rest of the pack.

The sound of the kettle whistling crisp and sharp breaks the cacophony of dog noises, and Zack and Tifa follow the sound to the kitchen, where “Mr. Wolfy” introduces himself at last as Fredrick _Volshe_. He pours them steaming mugs of black tea before speaking without preamble.

“You new to these parts?” He levels his milky stare toward Tifa, who lowers her head to stare into her tea.

“Um, I used to live here.”

“ _Here_? Or the here before here?”

She blinks and snaps to attention. “What do you—”

“My big sis also used to live here, near ten years ago now.” Tifa’s lips part and Zack’s hand finds hers under the table and squeezes. “We had a falling out, something stupid, family things, and didn’t talk for years after that. And when I finally came to my senses to apologize in person, well. She wasn’t here anymore, but _this_ town was.”

His emphasis makes her choke out her next words. “But then why stay?” How could anyone—

“Nowhere else to go.” He shrugs, taking a long sip of his tea. “Built myself a cabin out here to live out the rest of my days with the dogs.” Life goes on. “But I didn’t realize how much I’d been getting on in age until one of the dogs went missing from the pack a few nights ago—and I didn't even realize it. Course, it’s much easier to notice when the runt of the litter is gone, but just as I suited up to go searching for her last night, who shows up at the door but Tveir, covered in blood and limping on her hind leg. I had to tend to her first, and by the time I could go searching for my little runt, I couldn’t find a trace of her.”

At that, Tofu wanders into the kitchen, right through another metal gate keeping the rest of the dogs out. She makes a beeline for Zack, stretches tall on her hind legs to scratch at his legs, clamoring for attention.

“Thought she was a goner when I didn’t find her, but,” Volshe carries on, cracking a crooked smile for the first time all day, “maybe she just found her way to her people.”

Zack’s eyes widen immediately. “You mean?”

“Well, if ya wanna keep, anyway.”

“I think I want to keep her.” Zack whispers, picking Tofu up and nuzzling her face against his. She licks him on the nose.

Tifa’s eyes prickle again as she wraps her arms around them both. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

*

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“I’m taking a Tofu for a walk!” Tifa calls, hooking the leash around the metal clasps of Tofu’s bright blue harness.

“Coming!” There’s a thunder of footfalls before Zack appears on the stairwell.

“You’re not wearing a shirt.”

“So?”

“And I just put some chicken in the oven.”

“So?”

Tifa laughs and picks Tofu up, leans over so she can lick Zack on the nose. “We’ll be right back! I think keeping the house from burning down is more important than going for a walk together.”

His lower lips quivers.

“All right, you can take her if you want. She’s gotta poop.”

“Chicken, you said?”

Tifa rolls her eyes and heads out the door. Outside, Tofu bounds down the sidewalk, barking at the parrots feeding on crumbs in front of Mrs. Slate’s house. The parrots skitter and take flight, and Tifa has to rein Tofu in from chasing after them. Eventually they reach her favorite patch of grass and Tofu quickly squats down to pee, circles and sniffs the area, before prancing triumphantly on toward the town entrance, where she particularly likes to poop. It’s solid, Tifa notes as she picks it up with a little baggy and tosses it into the nearby garbage can, which means the marinated steak Zack snuck to her under the table probably wasn’t the cause of her subsequent tummy ache. Tifa’s debating whether to keep this information to herself when Tofu’s little ears twitch and she tilts her head skyward, sniffing at the air. And then suddenly she’s taking off toward the forest on the outskirts of town.

“Tofu—hey _Tofu_!!” Tifa has to sprint all out to keep Tofu from choking on the pull of the leash. She leads them off the usual path, clear across a tall stretch of grass, running faster, and faster still until Tofu finally stops at a small clearing in the woods.

Before them lies a woman face down, long auburn hair cascading down and over her bright red jacket and pale lavender sundress. Tifa quickly rushes and feels for a pulse under a thin silver bracelet. It’s there, but faint. “Hey, miss, please stay with me.” She takes the woman by the shoulder and rolls her gently to take the pressure off the front of her face. What Tifa’s not prepared for is blood, so much blood, pooling into the grass and staining the entire front of her dress. Tifa curses and yanks her sweater off, doesn’t even notice the prickle of cool air against her bare skin. She ties the sweater tightly over the woman’s stomach to put pressure on the wound, tucks Tofu under her armpit, and then scoops the woman into her arms and _runs_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D
> 
> It’s not a season finale without a cliffhanger, right? ~~Write into the station so we don’t get canceled!!!!~~ JK, but comments do give me life. :) Thank you sm to everyone reading and enjoying this ridiculous thing!!
> 
> Anyway Tofu is a super cute name that you would use only for the cutest of beings, fight me. Her personality is based a lot on my bb girl, but aesthetically I picture her like Pongki from [RuPong House](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3PSZivQbIegrfavj4fmgQQ), the tiniest most hilarious and adorable Pomeranian on the internet. Love her as I do.


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